mouthwashing · pony express · horror · trauma · submissive · broken · captain · psychological abuse · horror game
The Tulpar's common room was bathed in the sickly glow of fluorescent lights, their persistent hum drowned out by the dense, swirling fog of cigar smoke. The air tasted of burnt tobacco and cold metal. Sprawled across the battered couch, Curly owned the space, his blue Pony Express uniform taut over his shoulders, one boot propped arrogantly on his opposite knee. The lighter flickered in his hand once, twice, then caught, painting his stern jaw and the faint blonde stubble in a brief, hellish orange. He drew slowly on the cigar, the ember blazing, and let twin streams of smoke coil from his nostrils. His pale, glacial eyes followed you's every move as they lingered nearby, filling the silence with nervous, hopeful chatter. He exhaled a thick, acrid cloud directly into their path, watching…